Letters From My Sister

by Alice Peterson

  ‘’Bye, Katie, ’bye.’ Bells stops on the step and tries to turn round.

  ‘Stand away from the door,’ the conductor instructs as Fiona is stowing Bells’s bag in the luggage rack.

  ‘Isabel, be careful. Mind the gap. Get right inside,’ Fiona orders.

  ‘’Bye, Bells,’ I call. She turns and waves at me. ‘’Bye, Katie. Thank you for having me.’ I watch her and Fiona taking their seats. Bells sits by the window, Fiona next to her. Bells looks out of the window and waves again. She hits her hand against the glass. The conductor blows his whistle.

  ‘Hang on, don’t go!’ I push past the conductor and press the red button to open the automatic doors into their carriage. Fiona is about to say something but I don’t let her. ‘I want to say goodbye to my sister, properly,’ I say, swallowing hard.

  ‘Hello, Katie,’ Bells says.

  ‘Hi, Bells,’ I say, my eyes beginning to fill. ‘I …’ Don’t lose it now. The other passengers start to sigh around us. ‘Excuse me,’ the conductor says, ‘Unless you are travelling to Swansea, can you please get off the train?’

  ‘Get a move on!’ a boy jeers, pelting a tennis ball towards me. It hits Fiona in the forehead instead, making Bells laugh. ‘Some of us are in a hurry.’

  I wince. ‘Fiona, I’m sorry, did that hurt?’

  ‘Well, it did, rather.’ She sits in a more upright position.

  ‘Push off!’ another person says. Normally passengers are so buttoned up they don’t say a word to one another. Why is it that today everyone is being so vocal?

  ‘Quiet. She wants to say goodbye to her sister,’ says the passenger opposite Fiona and Bells. I smile at him gratefully.

  ‘Yeah! Let her stay and say goodbye nice and proper,’ adds another.

  Even Fiona smiles at me now. ‘Come on, quickly, say goodbye.’

  I lean across and kiss Bells clumsily on the top of her embroidered hat. My handbag bashes into Fiona’s large stomach. ‘I’ll come and see you, and I’ll write, I promise. Will you come back to London too?’

  ‘Yes, Katie, yes.’

  I dare to make one final move before I am hurled off the train. I kiss her on the cheek. ‘’Bye, Bells. I’ve loved having you to stay.’ I dig into my bag and find the photograph the Japanese couple took of us on the London Eye. I made a copy for myself on Sam’s computer. ‘I thought you could show your friends? Maybe put it in your album.’

  ‘Yes, Katie, I will. Loverly photo. Thank you, Katie. Thank you.’

  The conductor rolls his eyes at me as he finally blows his whistle. I jog along the platform to keep up with the moving train. Bells waves at me and I wave back, tears running down my cheeks. ‘’Bye, Bells. ’Bye.’ I wave one last time.

  I stare ahead, not knowing what to do next. I straighten my dress, flick back my hair and take a deep breath. You walk away and your life carries on, I tell myself. I half laugh. At least I told her. I could have let her go without saying anything, but I didn’t. I told her how much I’d enjoyed having her around; I feel we have made a start. One tiny part of my family has come back to me.

  I walk away from the quiet of the empty platform and back into the hustle and bustle of the normal world.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The house feels eerily quiet as I walk inside. I go downstairs to the kitchen and expect to see Bells sitting in the corner eating her homemade muesli and prodding the milk-bottle sculpture. I give it a prod for her. I want to see some of her clutter in the room – a cookbook, an empty Diet Coke can or a baking tray lying on the table. Instead the kitchen table is smooth and clean. I even miss Stevie Wonder playing in the background. It’s almost as bad as when Mum’s classical music stopped being played at home. I turn the radio on, anything for some noise. I have to get ready for work, yet am unable to get myself into gear. Finally I walk upstairs and then up the further flight to our bedroom. I can’t help looking into Bells’s bedroom once more. The room is now back to a stark white again. I’m about to pick up the lamp from the corner of the room but then decide against it. It can stay there. I like it.

  *

  I take a long shower. As the hot water blasts against my face I turn my mind to Sam. What am I going to do? Is it time to call it quits? But if we do split up, where am I going to live? Isn’t it time I thought about buying my own place? I’m nearly thirty. What’s stopping me?

  I have always lived with boyfriends, avoiding the responsibility of a mortgage. Every penny I have earned has gone into my business. I have drifted along in my twenties, focusing mainly on my career and going from one unsuitable relationship to another. If I go back to the beginning, I lost my virginity to Scott when I was eighteen. He was an electrician with tattooed arms. I met him while I was studying for my ‘A’ levels. We went out for six wonderful months. I practically moved into his bedsit. Mum accused me of using our house as a hotel. ‘You only come home to do your washing and have a free meal,’ she said. I was permanently hungry going out with Scott because all we could afford to eat were cornflakes, cornflakes and more cornflakes. It was exciting when we discovered we could make a new meal out of Frosties and cream, like a crème brûlée.

  Next there was Alex, a singer and guitarist who toured the country playing gigs. I was at art college in London and quickly moved in with Alex to avoid student accommodation. His flat was more like a hole but that didn’t matter. I loved telling Mum that I had landed on my feet. Look at me in London, I wanted to shout. I have a boyfriend, a home, and I have my place on an art course.

  Things petered out with Alex eventually. The next boyfriend broke my heart by sleeping with my flatmate, Fran. He was training to be an architect. He was intelligent and decent, the last person I could have imagined cheating on me. I made a promise never to let myself get so hurt again. So I had a series of easy, let’s face it lazy, relationships. Look at the one before Sam. He was always abroad working, so in reality I was leading a single life. Emma always says it’s better not to be in a relationship than to be in one that’s going nowhere. Better to go alone than be badly accompanied, she says. I know Sam isn’t exactly one of her favourite people. I wash my hair, the shampoo lathering in my hands. If he and I split up, I lose this place and the convenience of living so near to the shop. I’ll miss the steam room, too. I mean, who else has a steam room?

  I laugh at myself. Come on, Katie, those aren’t real reasons to stay with someone. What about love and commitment, kindness and passion? What about caring for someone so much that I’d put their welfare before my own? Would I die for Sam? I did love being with him until two weeks ago. Whatever his faults, he has his good points too. He has gone out of his way to book this weekend for us. He’s taking me skiing this Christmas. He is confident, successful, he can be charming. I love our secret dances in the kitchen. When we first met he made me feel like the only person in the room. He is supportive of my work. Look at the way he organized my fashion show at his client’s house. If someone had told me then I would be considering splitting up from him I would have laughed. How can so much change in two weeks? Will I regret it if I act rashly?

  Maybe we need to talk, I mean really talk about real things. For instance, I want to know more about his family. I’d like him to tell me about his father. If we stand a chance of staying together we have to be honest with one another and share more. I know I’m very much to blame as I started the whole charade off by not telling him about Bells. If we do break up I will miss our lifestyle. But is that enough for me any more?

  *

  I lock up the shop, but I don’t want to go home. Bells gave life to Sam’s house and now it’s back to being a show home. I find myself going to the bar across the road and ordering a drink. Half a bottle of wine and an hour later my mobile rings and Sam’s number appears in the box. I ignore it. He tries to call again but I let it ring.

  If you could write the script of your life, what would you write? It’s another cliché that Sam throws at me from time to time, but at least this one does have
some meaning. I would not be sitting here with nothing but failed relationships trailing behind me. Yet I can do something about it, I tell myself. I pick up my mobile and am about to ring Emma. Then I put it down. I know what she would tell me, and isn’t it about time I made a decision like this on my own? I need to stop limping along in no-man’s-land. Of course I know what I have to do.

  *

  It’s late by the time I make it back to Sam’s. He’s sitting on the sofa reading the FT.

  ‘We need to talk,’ I say, walking over to the window.

  He puts the paper down. ‘If it’s about last night, let’s leave it, hey? It was a load of bravado, Katie. You know what I’m like with the lads, especially Maguire. I didn’t mean any of it.’

  I’m not even sure how much I care about it now. I don’t feel any anger or betrayal. I don’t feel a thing. ‘I’ve been thinking about this weekend … maybe we should cancel it. I think we’ve got a few things to sort out.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The hotel? I don’t want to go,’ I say quietly.

  ‘You’re joking, right?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘The room’s booked. There’s no way I’ll get a refund at such short notice.’

  He is unreal. ‘Don’t you want to know why I don’t want to go? Sam, this can’t go on!’

  ‘What can’t go on?’ He slams his glass on to the table. ‘This is about last night, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes … no … I don’t know. Come off it, you probably did mean what you said. This isn’t what you signed up for. When we started going out, you knew nothing about my family. Well, now you do. I come with Bells. Also, I know nothing about yours. Why won’t you tell me about your dad?’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ he exclaims, exasperated. ‘He’s a workaholic, I never see the guy, what else is there to say?’

  I frown with frustration. ‘Where do you see us going?’

  ‘Oh no, don’t do this, Katie.’

  ‘Where are we heading?’ I persist.

  ‘I thought we were having a great time, having some fun. Clearly,’ he huffs, ‘I was under the wrong impression.’

  ‘We can go out, go to fancy hotels and expensive restaurants, go skiing this Christmas, we can do all of that for another year or so, and then what?’ I raise my voice. ‘What next?’

  ‘We wait and see. Jesus!’ He stands up and faces me properly. ‘Why are you so neurotic all of a sudden? What’s your problem? What do you want? A ring on your finger?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  ‘Well, what then? I thought we were happy the way things were.’

  ‘But what about the future?’

  ‘Bollocks to the future. Seize the day, I say. Worry about tomorrow,’ he pauses, thinking, ‘tomorrow.’

  ‘If we’re not right for each other we’re wasting our time.’

  Sam ignores me. ‘We’re going to that hotel, it’s all booked,’ he says, his tone overbearing. ‘We need this time together. Can I have the nice fun Katie back, please? Where’s she gone?’

  ‘Sam, you meant what you said last night,’ I now say with conviction. ‘You couldn’t hack Bells, and the two weeks were pretty much a disaster.’

  ‘It wasn’t that bad, was it? I thought we got on fine. Anyway, she’s gone now.’

  ‘I’m not getting through to you at all, am I?’

  Sam stares at me, confused.

  ‘What do you care about, Sam?’

  ‘Look, you’re not my flipping shrink. You’ve changed. Ever since Bells came to stay everything has changed.’

  I nod, realizing he’s right. ‘You’re a good friend, Sam,’ I say, knowing even that isn’t true. Once we part I can’t imagine meeting him for coffee. What would we talk about? ‘We’ve had some good times, but …’

  ‘No way,’ he says, cutting me off. ‘Uh-oh, no way.’ He gets up. ‘I think you should go.’ He walks past me and out of the room. ‘You can stay tonight, but I want you out by tomorrow. It’s over.’

  I don’t shout or scream. I feel only relief. ‘Done and dusted,’ I say quietly to myself. ‘Capisce?’ I sit down on the sofa and stare out of the window. Sam gave nothing to me, and I realize I gave nothing of myself to him, something I have been doing for too long.

  *

  I key in the number and Dad answers immediately. They are due to come home in two days.

  ‘Bells left today,’ I tell him.

  ‘You had a good time?’ he asks, catching his breath.

  I tell him about her stay, sensing he’s only half listening. ‘Can I have a word with Mum?’

  ‘Katie, we have to go …’

  ‘Hang on! How are you both? I tried to call you the other day …’

  ‘Katie, I can’t talk right now.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Listen, I’ll call you later.’ And he hangs up.

  I key in the number again but it’s switched off now.

  I sit staring at the telephone. Something is clearly not right. What’s going on? Why are we such a dysfunctional family?

  Why can’t we talk?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  1990

  Bells, Mum, Dad and I are sitting in a circle in a pastel blue-painted room, a plastic clock ticking in the background. The chairs were arranged like this when we arrived. I look around. This place reminds me of hospitals. It has that same clinical feel to it, the air tangy with disinfectant. Why are we here? All I did was steal a few eyeliners and records by Adam Ant and A-ha. I didn’t even want them, the As were the closest to the door, that’s all. Is that really so bad?

  Mum looks uptight, legs firmly crossed along with her arms. Dad is tapping his knees hard, as if they are a pair of drums. Mum leans across and slaps his hand. ‘Stop that,’ she orders. Neither Mum nor Dad has said much since we arrived. Mum picked me up from school. At least I missed double physics.

  ‘The Fletchers. Would you like to go in, please,’ the receptionist told us and pointed to the door with Family Clinic written on it.

  Mum looked frantically at all the other miserable-looking patients waiting for their appointments before pushing Bells and me through the Family Clinic door with alarming speed. Dad joined us here, out of breath, complaining that he hadn’t been able to see his last client at work because of this bloody session we were about to have. Bells is the only one who looks happy to be here. She is flicking through a Woman’s Realm that she found on a table in the corner of the waiting-room.

  The door opens and a small man limps into the room. He is so skinny his grey trousers are held up by a shiny black belt. He carries a file labelled ‘Fletcher Case’. He shakes Mum’s and Dad’s hands and smiles briskly at Bells and me. ‘Hello, I’m Simon Shackleton,’ he introduces himself. He is wearing a gold watch; black hairs sprout from his wrist to either side of the strap. I wonder what’s wrong with his foot as he pulls up a chair to join our circle.

  ‘What’s wrong with your leg?’ Bells asks immediately. ‘You broken it?’ If I’d asked like that I would be told off for being nosy.

  I watch his mouth twitch as he smooths his thin brown hair across his forehead. ‘We haven’t come here to talk about my leg, now have we?’ He smiles at Mum and Dad and they smile awkwardly back. ‘I tend to arrange the chairs like this. It brings everyone close together,’ he says.

  I watch Simon Shackleton as he peers at the first page of our file. It looks far too big for a family that doesn’t do anything most of the time. Are our problems really that bad? He closes the brown folder and looks at me. ‘Katie, can you tell me a little bit about your family?’ He leans back in his chair. For such a puny little man his voice is surprisingly bold and authoritative.

  I look at Mum and Dad, who shift in their seats. ‘They’re all right.’ I shrug. ‘I don’t know what else to say, really.’ The plastic clock appears to be ticking even more loudly in the background. Mr Shackleton’s eyes are focusing hard on me. After a lengthy pause he says, ‘Well, perhaps I shoul
d make it a bit more specific. Why don’t we go around the circle saying the things we like and find, let’s say, difficult about each member of the family? It’s an excellent way of seeing where the main problems lie. Maybe I should start with you, Mr Fletcher?’

  Dad sits up and clears his throat. ‘I love my family,’ he states. ‘I’m not going to pick out their bad points.’ He shakes his head and sinks back in his chair again.

  ‘Ah, so there are bad points?’ Mr Shackleton twitches his bony nose.

  ‘No family is perfect. Are you telling me yours is?’ Dad’s voice rises in indignation as he sits up again. Mum puts one hand on his thigh. Dad looks over at me and smiles sympathetically. It’s a smile that suggests he is sorry for what he is about to say. The ticking of the clock is getting louder. I can hear the pages of Bells’s magazine turning over and over. Finally Dad says, ‘I do wish Katie hadn’t got into trouble because then we wouldn’t be here. We were doing fine until this.’

  Mr Shackleton takes some more notes. ‘Please go on, Mr Fletcher.’

  ‘Katie has always been a good child. She has had to cope with a lot, help look after her sister Isabel and so on. I’m sure you are aware of the medical history of our younger daughter?’

  Mr Shackleton nods. ‘I am.’ He taps the file.

  Bells looks up from the magazine. ‘Can we go?’ she asks. Mum tells her to be quiet. She had explained in the car why we were coming here today but Bells has clearly forgotten already.

  ‘We are aware that it hasn’t been easy for Katie. She has had to grow up quickly, fend for herself more. Katie’s a great girl,’ Dad continues. ‘This is a phase, nothing more. I’m sure there are other families who need counselling a lot more than us.’

  ‘Mr Fletcher, I am sure that is the case, but every family has their issues …’

  ‘Exactly,’ pounces Dad. ‘We’re no different. Do you counsel every family who has the odd hiccup, Mr Shackleton?’

  ‘Mr Fletcher, I don’t think you can call this a hiccup exactly. Stealing should be taken very seriously.’